


Safe and Sound

by streetlightsky



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetlightsky/pseuds/streetlightsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It had been exactly one week since Jemma’s capture. It felt like months, though, since she hadn’t seen sunlight throughout her duration in the damp cell they shoved her in.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and general universe don't belong to me. Errors, grammatical or factual, intended or not, do belong to me. I'm not good at ratings, but there isn't anything horrendous in here - one f word and very very vague mentions of torture.

It had been exactly one week since Jemma’s capture. It felt like months, though, since she hadn’t seen sunlight throughout her duration in the damp cell they shoved her in. Months she spent in either trembling solitude or torturous confrontations with men who claimed they were making the world a better place. Months she endured without being able to talk her way out of a situation or in even some cases, talk at all.

Each day was a waiting game – waiting for her captors to try again, waiting for S.H.I.E.L.D. to come rescue her. She knew nothing. If Jemma had the knowledge of a field agent, she wouldn’t save herself. They probably gave up on her by now and for good reason. She was expendable – a sacrifice they would make for the greater good. They would have a hard time finding someone who could stand Fitz enough to work alongside him, but that would be the least of their problems.

Jemma wouldn’t give anything away. She knew nothing.

The sound of gunfire and men falling to the ground didn’t faze her. She was accustomed to the reverberations by now. Plus, her cell was relatively soundproof. She stopped shouting for help a long time ago; she didn’t need two doctorates to know that it was useless, like her. And now she could do nothing but sit on the ground, hug her knees against her chest, and push herself into the wall as if she would suddenly pass through it and escape.

When the door to her cell flew open, Jemma didn’t even look up.

“Simmons,” the voice said softly, but urgently. It was a man; she could tell by his combat boots. He crouched down to her level and she shrank back when his hands came towards her. “Simmons, it’s me.”

 _No, no it’s not._ Jemma shook her head. It couldn’t be. They had given up on her already.

“Simmons. Hey, it’s me. It’s me,” he repeated. But she kept her eyes cast downward. Her memory was betraying her. This was not the man she thought he was. This was just a figment of her imagination – something she heard because she wanted to. At this point, she might as well accept it as a hallucination, that her mind had finally broke and resorted to illusions in order for her to–

 “Jemma.”

She looked up then. Her captors didn’t call her by that if anything at all. She wasn’t Jemma to just anyone. Fitz, her family, a few friends she had kept in loose contact with from her years at university, and–

“It’s me, Grant.” His hands fell on her shoulders and she flinched involuntarily waiting for the harsh force that never came. “It’s me.” He glanced over his shoulder but kept a firm hold on her. Shakily, she unclasped her hands from their strangle hold around her legs and tentatively reached out towards him to slowly run them over the exposed muscles she had unintentionally committed to memory.

“Grant...” she repeated over and over as her fingers crept up his arms. He looked like Grant and he felt like Grant, but she just couldn’t be too sure. She had every right to be doubtful.

“I’m here,” he told her. “I’m here, but we gotta go. Reinforcements will be here any minute and we don’t have much time to…” he started but stopped when her hand lifted the sleeve on his left arm and ran a cold finger over the minute scar.

“Grant,” she whispered again, but this time in unquestionable confidence that the man in front of her was indeed who she thought he was, who she wanted him to be, who she had silently wished for every free hour she was here and not thinking about what they were going to do to her next.

And then her arms wrapped around his neck – holding onto him for dear life before she drowned in the sea of nothingness. Her face finally flooded with emotions she wanted to feel, eyes welled with tears she wanted to shed. Her heart simultaneously flew out of her chest and yet settled deeply in its rightful position.

“I’ve got you,” Grant told her as his arms found their way around her. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m gonna get you home.” There had been little doubt of that in his mind regardless if S.H.I.E.L.D. authorized this mission or not. He didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know that Jemma had been waiting – had been waiting for him.

“Listen to me,” Grant said when he pulled back and held Jemma’s face in his hands. “I’m gonna get you out of here, but we have to go now, okay?” A tear splashed onto his thumb when she nodded.

He was fight; she was flight. In that moment, there was no or – only them.

\--

Fitz left the lab long before Jemma hung up her lab coat. He was the morning riser and she was the night owl. Coordination was part of their routine – tasks and timetables and tendencies long cemented into their memories since university. Fitz typed loudly and proudly announced his intentions when he tested equipment. Jemma only muttered to herself, but allowed things to bubble and erupt, by accident, without so much as a precaution to anyone in her proximity. But that person was usually Fitz and Fitz only.

Until Agent Ward came along.

Not that the man would be caught or admit to frequenting the lab, especially with his newfound job as Skye’s supervising officer. But some distances were harder to separate, even with the lab’s bulletproof glass door.

The arrangement of her work space and his punching bag tested her discipline, something she had long mastered working her way towards two PhDs. But he was spectacle. Life was her expertise – both alien and human. When Jemma allowed herself to look, she didn’t believe Agent Ward was either. Anatomically and physiologically like her, yes. But he operated on an entirely alien plane of his own.

He was fascinating.

An unsuspecting evening to herself and an exploding beaker finally caught his attention as if someone had the gall to open fire at the sole biochemist remaining on the planet. Had she known that was what it took for him to break the barrier, she would’ve saved all her pyrotechnics for nights alone. In an unassuming way, she already did.

“You always work this late?”

“Sometimes,” she answered casually. “Between you and me, there are just some things that are better without Fitz’s interjections.”

The small but significant smile she elicited from him was blinding – a blistering contrast to his relentlessly stoic demeanor. She felt lucky to be on the receiving end of something seemingly so rare, something she now sorely sought after.

Perhaps both were braver without the presence of their fellow engineer – and everyone else for that matter. It was enough for her that he dared to brave through the obscured threshold. He was no consultant for her work, but even she would not object to Grant Ward sitting on the stool across from her while she chattered.

It was different – having someone who listened instead of someone who talked over her. Regardless if she relayed her researched and notes to him or ventured to topics irrelevant to their purpose on the Bus, it was their silent arrangement that allowed them this connection where they were less teammates and more friends.

And somewhere in the middle of their nightly engagements, Ward and Simmons became Grant and Jemma.

She clung to his presence, the words he gave her, the half smiles he graced her with. When she wrangled a warm laugh out of his contained self, there was little else Jemma could be concerned with in the world other than being the one to make him do that again. Her calculated mind wondered the exact number, wondered where she landed on the list, wondered how she stacked up in comparison as an agent and as a friend.

Naturally, the further it progressed, the harder it became for her to maintain that discipline – the one that got her here in the first place. She continued to look over the edge she desperately wanted to descend down, but still held back.

Little did she know that she had already fallen.

\--

“So you were captured?”

“Yes.”

“You, an untrained field agent, were put out on a formal mission?”

She paused to blink. “Ye–”

“Agent Coulson, Agent May, and I were on the scene,” Grant interjected gruffly for clarification. “Agent Simmons’ presence on the field was required to assess the substance at the scene and thus the gravity of the situation. If the report was thoroughly read, it also stated that Agent Fitz and–”

“I’ve read the report, Agent Ward, thank you. Now if you will, I’d like to get back to debriefing Agent Simmons here.” Grant folded his arms across his chest and paced away from the front of the room.

“Agent Simmons, how long were you held captive?” Grant clenched his jaw.

“One week.”

“And there was someone else with you? Another man, is that correct?”

Jemma inhaled a slow breath. “Yes.”

“And what happened to him?”

She looked down at her hands; they were trembling and cold. They didn’t feel like hers. Her hands were durable, precise, and warm – not these delicate little things.

“Agent Simmons, what happened during the time they held you captive?”

“Goddammit, if you read the report, why are you asking her these questions?!” Grant exclaimed as he turned back to the absurdity. “What’s the point of this? You already have my statement. You already have hers. You have one from everyone involved. And we all know what happened. We don’t need to make her go over it another time!”

“Agent Simmons, I’m going to ask that you take a polygraph to recount and reconfirm your–”

“A polygraph?! Are you serious?! What does she need a polygraph for? Have you been sitting behind a desk for so long that you can’t even do your job correctly? That you can’t even see what’s right in front of you?!” Grant slammed as he stormed forward and loomed over the table Jemma was seated at.

“Agent Ward, I’m going to ask you to stop disrupting my session and leave this room before I have you removed. Now.” The tone of voice showed its authority over Grant. But Grant Ward had never been one to back down.

So it was Jemma who talked some sense into him.

“Grant,” she murmured just loud enough for him to hear. Her eyes remained glued to the unfamiliar pair of hands connected to her body, but she knew when she had caught his attention. She always knew when he was looking.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “You go. I’ll be fine.” Grant’s expression softened when his gaze shifted towards her. He had barely let her out of his sight after she had fallen into a rather inert state on the helicopter flight out of the compound. He didn’t dare lower his gun until the adversaries became the ants they were. Though she had visibly livened from the condition he found her in, she still wasn’t quite the same. He didn’t know when to expect her return to normalcy.

May stood in the hallway alone with her unchanging expression. He had never been more grateful for her silence than when he pulled Jemma’s wilted body into his while they flew to the team’s secure location. He had never seen anything more daunting than Jemma’s dormant eyes.

“He’s making her take a polygraph,” Grant informed May.

“This is his first case since he was on probation.”

“I don’t care,” Grant said. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. They went over it again and again. Each time, Grant thought of all the ways it could’ve gone differently, all the ways he could’ve prevented it from happening – could’ve kept her safe and shielded her from everything she had endured.

\--

Jemma’s acclimation to field work was slow but steady. Though she preferred the peace of a laboratory, discoveries out in the real world were captivating. She refused to let her team down by hiding behind beakers and Bunsen burners. They in turn protected her integrity and intelligence.

But when the team pulled up at the long abandoned warehouse complex, Jemma’s primary interest was not collecting specimens, but rather Agent Ward’s interactions. Regardless of what she admitted to, the only thing that mattered was the reaction, the observations. She was a scientist, after all. And the conclusion had been unceremoniously thrown at her first so all she could do now was gather evidence to prove something she perhaps deluded herself into ignoring.

The more she saw, the more obvious it became. She had let her selfish desires obscure the truth. How naïve she had been to allow late night conversations and stupid smiles to fuel her heart. They masked reality and now she was paying the price for lowering her guard and indulging in adolescent crimes.

She should’ve known he wasn’t Grant to just her.

“Simmons, ready?” Coulson asked. She nodded. “May, check the field. We don’t want any surprises like last time. Ward, stay on guard for Fitz and Skye. Fitz, can you–”

“Got it,” Fitz responded. Jemma looked intently at her bag of equipment. She knew Grant’s eyes were on her; she could always tell.

“Alright, let’s go.”

She stuck close to Coulson. By now she understood no perceived threats meant ones that could be dealt with beforehand. But she wasn’t safe by any means – not when inextricable images that accompanied turbulent thoughts endlessly tumbled in her mind.

Her hands moved automatically. Years of experience trained her to work by instinct. Coulson looked on, but was more concerned with any unannounced visitors that might tear through the doorway. He didn’t know the difference, what it took, but one glance down at her samples and Jemma knew her mind was elsewhere.

“I saw movement on the east side,” May said through the earpiece.

“Simmons…”

“I know,” she replied. “Almost done. I’ve just got to get the–” Gunfire halted her train of thought and she scrambled to finish the job they needed her to do. Coulson aimed his gun at the entrance.

“We’ve got company,” Ward’s voice cut through.

“Ward, bring the van to the back of the facility. May, hold them off and meet us there. Fitz–”

“Already done,” Fitz said. Jemma could hear him typing away. For a person that did not like going out in the field, he sure worked better under pressure.

“Simmons–”

“Right behind you,” she told Coulson as she packed her things away methodically and efficiently. They heard footsteps approaching the building and the front door slammed open just as they dodged towards the back. Jemma could not get out of there fast enough as she passed Coulson while he gunned down their assailants.

The rest of the team would be there waiting for them so they could leave before any damage was done. Grant would be there, stern and expressionless as ever as they escaped awaiting peril. Despite what she had seen, what she had said, Grant’s job was to protect them all, including her. He always remained faithful to his duty and nothing changed that.

When someone opened fire at the van, Grant got out and took care of business. Coulson emerged from the building as May arrived on scene to fight off any other adversaries.

“Let’s go!” Coulson commanded in the spare second of silence they were granted as he herded his team into the van. Grant made his way back to the driver’s side, but stilled the same time Coulson began to speak. “Where’s–”

It was the softest of screams, but nonetheless one powerful enough to alert Grant’s attention. He didn’t need to check behind him and do a head count. He didn’t need Coulson to finish his question. He already knew.

No one was assaulting them because they got what they wanted.

Without a word, Grant tore into the thicket ignoring protocol and Coulson’s demands.

The increasing beats of his heart rate matched the pounding of his rapid footsteps. He was leaving himself vulnerable to attack as he dodged low branches and flew over roots, but he was not the one in danger. He was not the one to be concerned about.

He strained to hear something else other than his own breath as he ran and ran deeper into the trees. He begged her – to fight, to scream, to call out his name. But when he stopped at a clearing and looked for any signs of her captors, he knew he was too late.

He had lost her, perhaps for the second time.

\--

Jemma slowly stirred her cup of tea in the small kitchen area of the Bus. The steaming brew was always her remedy in times of need. She could never stand coffee no matter how much milk or cream or sugar was added. Some old British habits would always remain regardless how removed she was from those days.

The subject of her family and childhood remained a touchy one. It was the reason she threw herself into academics in the first place. It was the reason she worked endlessly towards two doctorates instead of finding a simple, stable, and cozy job back home. Even Fitz didn’t know the whole story and she preferred to keep it that way.

Sometimes she wondered what would become of her life had she stayed – where she would be, who she would be. And then she thought about whether her departure mattered at all. In the end, hadn’t they already made their impact? Hadn’t they already scarred her? Nothing could erase those memories – no ethical method she would voluntarily agree to anyway.

It made them all misfits yet oddly family in the organization. She knew it wasn’t a coincidence that the agency targeted those kinds of people to work for them. That facet in their lives, or lack thereof, was almost a cornerstone to any remote interest S.H.I.E.L.D. had during their recruitment process.

But she was in a better place because of them. She was able to do what she loved and traveling the world with good people who in the end wanted the same things as her was not so bad either.

It surprisingly hadn’t been too difficult to breach the social barrier Jemma usually found herself entangled in. While they certainly had their differences in the beginning, teamwork came rather naturally as long as they performed their duties. It was all about timing in her opinion – being in the right place at the right time. After all, wasn’t that what led Grant to her in the first place?

There were nights Jemma couldn’t wait for Fitz to leave the lab. She might not even have work to do, but busied herself with something in hopes that familiar footsteps would walk down the stairwell or his hands would relieve him from a particularly long workout. It was a waiting game Jemma allowed herself to play all for the sake of gaining another memento to add to the collection she hoarded.

Sometimes it was a simple wave – acknowledging her presence and leaving it at that. Sometimes it was nothing, leaving her in pensive contemplation. But then there were times he slipped through the door as if she didn’t notice.

She always noticed.

She found the spontaneity rather endearing. Nobody was forcing Grant Ward anywhere, minus Coulson and mission demands. So if he went out of his way and took time to–

Jemma stopped cold; against her wishes and better judgement, her feet planted at the sight in front of her. She was bound by an immovable force that made her stay and watch. Mortification did not begin to describe her racing thoughts, her palpitating heart. She felt heat rising onto her cheeks – a burn that spread so rapidly as she gripped her broiling cup of tea.

So she dropped it on the table she had been standing behind. And then all eyes were on her.

“Sorry,” she muttered in a soft voice as she averted her gaze from the entwined two. “I didn’t… I was just…” she tried but for the first time in a long time couldn’t find words. She had caught them, but she was the one in the predicament. Not Skye and Gr– _Ward_. Her. She was the only one that had a problem.

“Sorry,” she repeated. She picked up her brew and ducked her head as she left. Jemma had never walked that fast in her entire life.

When she arrived back at the lab, she immaturely locked the door behind her. She stared hard at the walls, at the equipment, at her steaming beverage.

But she refused to let herself cry.

\--

Jemma was lying and not working hard enough to keep it believable.

She had ‘passed’ the polygraph and cleared both the physical and mental evaluations before Coulson even let her board the Bus again. Her reflexes were naturally slower at first, but her intellect was in tact as ever. Though she insisted her recovery was complete and shouldn’t impede their progress, they still treated her delicately and kept her out of harms way.

She sighed heavily every time she watched as Ward and May, and even Fitz and Skye sometimes, went out to get the job done while Coulson stayed behind to give orders and babysit. If anything, the confines of the plane made her dizzy with impatience and apprehension.

Everything was fine, she kept telling them.

But Grant knew better.

He hadn’t been to the lab to see her since the day before her capture, but he was aware her nights now extended longer than they usually did. Even he could not keep his eyes open that long before getting some decent hours of sleep. He suspected she was getting even less than that – especially when he heard Fitz say that she had gotten up before he did.

And it really wasn’t his place to bother her or accuse her of any injustice, but his mission was to rescue her and he had a feeling he had yet to complete it.

“Going to bed?” he abruptly asked her one night. He had waited – sat in the common area she needed to pass to get to her bunk. It was almost three in the morning.

“Yes…?” she replied tentatively after recomposing herself from the original surprise of him awake and about. “You?”

“In a bit,” he responded and waved the papers in hand as his excuse. He had long memorized all the details for tomorrow’s assignment. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He inconspicuously watched as she headed towards her compartment of the plane, slid the door shut, and pulled the curtains close.

When he walked by, he saw the stream of light still beaming below the curtain line.

Grant Ward might not have people skills, but he was observant enough to know when something was wrong – when something bothered Jemma.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said outright to her later. Had waited for them to complete their mission, for Fitz to leave, for everyone to close up shop and retreat to their individual quarters before he approached her.

“I’m sorry?”

“I know you haven’t been sleeping,” he repeated.

“I don’t think this is–”

“And I think I know why.”

Jemma stared for the only moment she could before lowering her eyes. Regardless of what he thought or what he knew, she had an image to protect.

“I’m fine,” she stated plainly. “There’s no need for your concern.”

“Then prove it.”

“Excuse me?” Grant only looked at her intently to confirm his seriousness.

“What are you going to do, watch me sleep?” Jemma asked.

That was exactly what he was going to do as he dragged a chair into her compartment. There was little room, but enough that he wasn’t posted right by her bed.

“Are you really going to do this?” Jemma asked quietly. The whole situation made her uneasy for both obvious and unassuming reasons. “I mean, won’t you be uncomfortable in that chair?”

“Just get some sleep. You pass this test and you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Grant said as he sat and propped his feet up. Jemma had protest written all over her face, but she had something to prove – something she already knew she would fail at.

Her eyes wanted to rest. They wanted to close for a long while and stop working so hard. But Jemma was fully aware of what was behind the darkness and the last thing she wanted was to go there in front of Ward, of all people.

But she dosed, as did he. And the one thing she could not control was her subconscious.

Unfortunately, Grant could not say he was surprised when he woke to distressing sounds coming from her. But that didn’t mean he was immune to the pain that came through her panicked cries.

“You’re okay. You’re okay, I’m here,” he repeated as he went to her. She tried to hide, but it was futile. There was no way to deny the very thing that plagued her now.

So she allowed herself this – just one moment where she didn’t have to be so brave, where she could lean on Grant and let him be the man she still secretly wished for.

“They– They… killed him. And they–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Grant murmured in comfort as he pulled her in close and cradled her head into him with his palm.

It was as if she was being rescued all over again.

Her compartment remained dark, but Jemma didn’t dare close her eyes again, not when she refused to go back there, not when Grant was in her bed with his arms wrapped around her body. Never mind the fact that it had been cruel for him to put her through this or that she had been naïve in thinking it would somehow go away on its own. She welcomed the distraction that was him.

She marveled at the way he fell asleep so easily, either naturally or just too tired from chasing her to confession; basked in the strength of his arms she lied in even during his state of slumber; gazed at his serene face, softened with tenderness; reveled at the presence and close proximity of the Grant she wanted, the Grant she would always want.

Jemma hoped the rest of the plane would never wake – that she didn’t have to face what was still out there by herself come daylight.

\--

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Jemma didn’t have to look up at those words; didn’t want to look up. And while she had been trying her best to adhere to her job and her job only, she didn’t owe him anything, especially not an explanation – not when it was already so pathetically obvious.

“I haven’t,” she simply insisted. Her eyes, though never leaving her work, followed as he stepped inside the lab and took his old seat. “We spoke this morning about tomorrow’s case.”

“That’s… not what I’m talking about.” Jemma sighed in frustration.

“You know, for a man that usually has little to say, you sure are– What happened to your arm?!” she stated when she had finally looked up, first to mock him, but then concerned about what was presented in front of her. There was a gauze bandage wrapped around his arm just peeking through his t-shirt sleeve. That was not there in the morning.

“I… got nicked. It’s fine,” Grant replied simply.

“What, fighting with–” Jemma started, but stopped herself. They stared at each other for a moment before she lowered her head.

She didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it. That wasn’t why she was here, why Coulson picked her to be part of the team. She didn’t want to feel like this. She just wanted all of it to go away now.

“Are you mad at me?” Grant asked. Her head snapped up quickly – surprised at the question as well as the answer he apparently had yet to grasp.

“No, of course not,” she told him. “I could never be mad at you…” His silence was meant for her to continue. “I’m… I’m mad at myself,” she said quietly. “That I let myself get into this mess. It’s not– It wasn’t… supposed to be anything.” She closed her eyes for a second and repeated a phrase she never thought she would say. “It’s just a crush. It’ll go away.”

“Do you believe that?” Grant questioned after a moment. Jemma huffed out a small chuckle.

“When I first began my years at university, I was overwhelmed by the diversity and… student population, let’s say. And in my very first year, I was completely gone for a fellow student in my chemistry lab. His name was… James Tucker,” she described and managed a small smile.

“He was all I talked about for a while. And I made the mistake of telling my mum about him. Naturally, she was upset that I had let my attention… shift away from my studies. So she did her best to change that. And you know what she said to me? She told me exactly, _it’s just a crush; it’ll go away_.” Jemma pressed her lips into a line. That was not the only thing her mother had said to her at that time.

“Soon after, I received an internship no other person my age had ever gotten before. And I didn’t find out until years later that my mum had pulled some strings to get me that position, just so I would stop thinking about a boy.

“But it worked. I didn’t even blink at him after that. I had something else to do, something more important to focus on. It was just a crush and it did go away.” She breathed. “Just like this one.”

“Has it?” Grant boldly questioned.

“I…” She swallowed thickly. That little anecdote was meant to be explanatory, was meant to put a definitive cap on the subject – that no matter what it would take, her feelings for him would go away, eventually. But he challenged her. To what end? For what purpose? Why did it matter to him? Nothing was going to change in the end.

Jemma had paused out of fear, but she was already defeated.

“I’ve been to six out of seven continents in one week. I’ve worked with things I didn’t believe existed. I’ve been infected. I’ve been shot at. And–” It would be a mistake to say his eyes appeared hopeful. In the end, they only wanted the truth, as did she.

“And yet when you’re sitting five feet away from me, the only thing I think about is… what it feels like to be the one wrapped in your arms.”

She looked away, not wanting to see his reaction. It wouldn’t matter.

There was no more hiding, no more pretending. She confessed and now there was nothing she could do anymore.

She peeled off her gloves and neatly set them away along with her lab coat she hung on the wall. When she tried to escape past him wordlessly, he swiveled on his stool and caught her forearm before she could leave.

“There’s… nothing between me and Skye,” he said blankly. Jemma looked back.

“Who are you trying to convince?” she innocently asked. Grant’s expression opened, but he said nothing, just as she suspected.

“Good night, Agent Ward.”

\--

Jemma had only been in Coulson’s office a handful of times. While every occasion wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, it wasn’t a place she wanted to frequent. When she showed up and saw Ward there, she was even less pleased.

“You told him,” Jemma muttered as if he had betrayed her in the most crushing fashion.

“I’m sorry. I had to,” he tried to explain, but Jemma brushed past him and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Coulson said as his office came into view. “Both of you.” She stepped in with Grant behind her. Coulson came from his chair and leaned against the front of his desk. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

“I’m fine,” she replied. The answer was automatic now.

“Ward tells me you haven’t been well lately,” Coulson commented. Jemma bit her lip from sarcastically responding. She could feel Grant’s eyes on her. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, sir.”

“How are you dealing with everything?” Coulson asked vaguely. It was a tactic: to get her to be the first to raise the issue. She felt as she was being interrogated – as if fearing slumber was the worst crime she could commit.

“Sir, I know what this is about,” Jemma stated. “And as I have told you and everyone else, I’m fine.” Jemma didn’t know how many more times she needed to say it to believe it; she had never been a very good liar.

“Jemma,” Grant started. “You’re not–”

“I’m fine!” she exclaimed. “The doctors said I was fine. I passed my physical and my psych evaluation!”

“That doesn’t mean–”

“It means there’s nothing wrong!” she cried out exasperatedly. “So I’ve been having a difficult time sleeping. I think–”

“You’re _not_ sleeping, Jemma,” Grant corrected. “You’re avoiding it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re afraid of going to sleep.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said, but her voice had progressively weakened. “This is… I can’t believe this is happening.” Her hands covered her face in frustration, in humiliation. She couldn’t be like this in front of them. She couldn’t let her fears get the best of her and lose all that she had worked for.

Grant took the opportunity to come from behind and stand in front of her. He blocked her view of Coulson and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Look at me.” She refused.

“Jemma.”

Dropping her hands, she looked up then, bleary-eyed and just as broken as the day he rescued her from that hell.

“You don’t have to be afraid, okay?” he told her. “You don’t have to let it affect you like this.” It would always remain with her; it would always be a part of her. But Grant knew better than anyone that it would get better. It did get better. “But you have to face it, Jemma.”

“I don’t want to,” she whimpered.

“You do. You have to,” Grant said as a matter of fact. “But not alone. Never alone.” He would not put her through what he had endured for all those years. He would not let her suffer like that.

And for the first time, she believed it could happen – that the Grant she wanted, the Grant she would always want existed in the real world, just the way she imagined.

“Okay,” she finally relented. The word was soft but strong, powerful in its acknowledgment and surrender. Her body went slack and Grant didn’t hesitate to pull her in. She was safe. He would keep her that way.

“I’ll tell May our change of course,” Coulson commented quietly before slipping out.

At night, Grant lingered at Jemma’s door. He wouldn’t post himself there, but he still had a duty to perform.

“I’ll be alright,” she told him.

“I know,” he replied. “But–”

“I know where to find you,” Jemma finished before he could even verbalize his thought. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Well… good night,” she said and moved to slide her door close.

“Jemma…”

“Yes?” she answered and looked up to him. It was the first time in a long time Grant saw the girl he knew she was in there. And it was then he also knew: everything was going to be okay.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Skye.”


End file.
